Biggles Delivers The Goods

by W E Johns

  “It seemed of no importance.”

  “Well, this is a lot different from what I expected,” stated Biggles tersely. “The place looks occupied—almost civilised. What’s happened?”

  While this conversation had been going on the others had come forward.

  “What’s going on here ?” asked Algy. “The place looks like the establishment of a teak-wallah.”

  “That’s just what I was saying,” asserted Biggles.

  Li Chi held up his hands, palms upwards, to explain. “It was the establishment of teak-wallahs,” said he. “Perhaps I should have told you. If I did not it was because I attached no importance to it. This is what happened. About a year before the war a British-Indian company obtained a concession from the government to exploit the timber which abounds on the islands. They established themselves here and began work on the nearest trees, cutting down a great number, as you can see.” He pointed. “There is the sawmill. It was erected shortly before the war broke out. Japan’s entry into the war, and the occupation of Burma and Malaya, put a stop to everything. The white men sailed away—it was all they could do to save their lives. Now you understand why all these teak logs have been left lying on the banks.”

  “Why were they not sawn up?” asked Algy.

  “To do that it would have been necessary to float them to the mill, and for six months after being cut teak will not float on water.”

  “But the sawmill is still working!” exclaimed Biggles.

  Li Chi smiled. “Why not? This is how I found things when I came here. It seemed a pity to waste all this good material. When the war is over I shall need a new junk, so I set the men to work sawing the logs into planks in readiness for building. In fact, work on my new junk has already begun.”

  “What men are these?” asked Biggles.

  “The men who were here; the workmen employed by the company; Chinese, Malays, Burmese, Tamil and Dyak labourers; they had nowhere to go; had they gone to the mainland the Japanese would have made slaves of them. So they stayed here, hiding in the jungle-covered hills, where they were comparatively safe. At least they were free. Most of these men were skilled in the timber trade, fellers or sawyers, so I decided to keep them busy. I pay them of course. In addition they share the comforts of my old crew and receive medical attention from me—a matter of some importance in a country where sickness and accident are the rule rather than the exception.”

  “A useful arrangement,” agreed Biggles. He was looking at the men, and the timber, with a pensive look in his eyes. “I’m just wondering if they couldn’t be more usefully employed than in building a junk. By thunder! I believe it could be done.”

  “What could be done?” asked Ginger.

  Biggles’ manner became enthusiastic. He seemed to be amused, too, and the others, who knew this mood, prepared themselves for something unusual.

  They were not disappointed.

  “I think we could adapt this lake as an airfield for land planes,” announced Biggles.

  “Here, I say old boy, you must have had the sun on the back of your neck while we were tootling across that beastly ocean—if you see what I mean?” asserted Bertie.

  “Nothing like it,” returned Biggles warmly. “This lake is the only flat patch in the islands. Yes, I know it’s wet but it needn’t stay that way. With thousands of teak logs weighing a ton apiece, and unlimited labour, what more do we want? Imagine all these logs floating on the water. They would provide a foundation steady enough to carry a brigade of tanks. All we have to do is to cover them with smooth planking and we have a landing deck. Li Chi says he has been sawing planks. We could make a runway even if we didn’t cover the entire lake.”

  “I say, by Jove, that’s an idea,” declared Bertie, adjusting his eyeglass better to survey the scene. “Make a bally aircraft carrier of the place— what?”

  “That’s it,” agreed Biggles. “An aircraft carrier with a landing deck several times larger than any ship that ever put to sea.”

  “I hate sloshing cold water on your brainwave, but how long do you suppose it will be before the Japs spot this beautiful contrivance?” inquired Algy, a trifle cynically.

  “I don’t agree that they need see it,” returned Biggles promptly. “The water is dark blue, seen from the air. What’s to stop us having a deck the same colour? The Japs don’t come here, although they may fly over. Put yourself in the position of a pilot. Would you, looking down on what you knew had always been a sheet of water, suppose that it had suddenly developed a solid surface?”

  “No,” admitted Algy.

  “There’s another angle to that,” went on Biggles. “If for any reason a Japanese aircraft did decide to land here, it would certainly not be a land plane. It would be a marine aircraft. It doesn’t need much imagination to visualise the result.”

  “What fun—what fun,” murmured Bertie. “All my life I have wondered what would happen if a flying boat had to touch down on jolly old terra firma.”

  “This may be your chance to find out,” answered Biggles smiling.

  “I should like to be close enough to see the pilot’s face when his keel hit the deck,” said Ginger.

  “Here, I say, that’s a bit thick, old boy,” protested Bertie.

  “There would be nothing to prevent enemy machines from spotting our planes, when they were here,” argued Algy.

  “Oh yes, there would,” replied Biggles. “We could build rough sheds at one end of the runway and camouflage them with branches—and there’ll be plenty of branches to spare when we start shifting the timber. Dash it, we could make our sheds look so much like an extension of the forest that the birds wouldn’t know the difference.”

  There was silence for a minute, as if everyone was pondering on the scheme.

  “What do you think of it, Li Chi?” inquired Biggles.

  “I am amazed,” said Li Chi. “I should never have thought of it. More and more I begin to understand why you British succeed. You have an answer for everything. It is the simplicity of the project that overcomes me.”

  “Will the labourers be all right?”

  “This will so much tickle their sense of humour that they will work twenty hours a day,” returned Li Chi. “Without pay, and without going on strike,” he added slyly.

  “How long will it take to do the job?”

  “By using the logs near the water, and the planks already cut, a temporary runway could be made in a few hours. We shall need a lot of nails, though—a lot more than I have here.”

  “We can soon fetch some nails—with the paint and brushes.”

  “Then I will give orders for the work to start this moment,” declared Li Chi.

  “Oh, no—not so fast,” objected Biggles. “You can get the logs rolled down to the water if you like, but you mustn’t start the planking till we get the paint. The art of camouflage is to do it as you go. Suppose an enemy reconnaissance pilot were to fly over tomorrow, and again in a few days? He might not realise what was going on, but he would see a difference—and in modern warfare any change in the scenery invites suspicion. Suspicion is followed by investigation. We must paint as we go, and we shall have to have scouts out to watch for the approach of enemy aircraft. If that happens everyone will have to take cover.”

  “I understand,” acknowledged Li Chi. “I suggest we build the runway first, and then go on working until the whole lake is covered.”

  “That’s the idea,” answered Biggles. “The first things we need are paint, brushes and nails. I think I had better stay here to plan the details. Algy, after you’ve had a spot of lunch you’ll take the Gosling back to India to get the necessary equipment. We shall need a deuce of a lot of paint—get all the stuff you can lay hands on. Get in touch with Raymond and tell him I’ve decided to use land planes. We’ll start with five. The gang can bring them across. I should also like a couple of long-range fighters for defence, or for escort work, should it become necessary. I suggest a couple of Lightnings. They have some in the re
serve pool at Delhi.”

  “Lightnings will arrive here with empty tanks,” Algy pointed out.

  “Yes, but as soon as we get the thing going we can lay in a store of oil and petrol. The Liberators might as well fly loaded both ways. They can bring fuel and stores out and take rubber back. As you will be flying lightly loaded you can bring more petrol back with you. Don’t waste time— get back. Things are liable to happen quickly on a show like this. Bertie can go with you for company. Ginger had better stay here with me.”

  “The squadron is going to be busy if it is to operate five transports and two fighters,” observed Algy dubiously.

  “The fellows can take turn and turn about flying the Liberators,” answered Biggles. “With two pilots standing by the fighters, we shall always have two resting. I don’t suppose there will be much for the fighters to do—at least I hope not. All right. Let’s go ashore and rip the lid off a can of bully.”

  * * *

  1 This machine, an American built high-wing cantilever all-metal monoplane, carries the U.S. Navy and Coastguard designation of J4F-1, but in the R.A.F. it is known as the Gosling. The hull is divided into five watertight compartments. There is enclosed seating accommodation for five passengers. Cruising speed is about 150 m.p.h..

  CHAPTER IV

  GINGER TAKES A WALK

  THE party went ashore under the curious eyes of as motley a collection of humanity as Ginger could remember seeing anywhere. They were not a pretty lot to look at, either, he decided, although in this respect the conditions in which they were living were no doubt largely responsible. Skins varied in tint from yellow to dark brown, and these alone provided a clue to their several nationalities. Clothing was skimpy, threadbare and dirty, as was to be expected. The most popular garment was the sarong, the shirt-like dress worn by the working class throughout the Isthmus of Malaya. One or two Chinese had blue dungaree trousers. Every man carried a weapon of some sort, if only a knife. Firearms were rare, and of obsolete pattern; but the parang, the heavy curved sword of the district, was common.

  One man stood out in ugliness and ferociousness of appearance—a tall, gaunt Malay, minus one eye, and a face so scarred that Ginger shuddered when he looked at it. His expression, due to the scars, was demoniacal, and not improved by a dirty red handkerchief tied low over his forehead. From a wide belt, exquisitely decorated with gold, silver and mother-of-pearl, hung a huge parang. Thrust into a sash were a knife and a modern service revolver. The sinister appearance of this musical-comedy bandit was rendered almost ludicrous by an enormous, obviously home-made cigar. As a final touch the man walked with a pronounced limp.

  Li Chi introduced him as Ayert, his bosun, observing in a low voice that the facial distortion was the result of an affair with a tiger, and the limp, the outcome of an argument with a crocodile when he was a boy.

  Nevertheless, asserted Li Chi, Ayert was the finest sailing master from the Indian Ocean to the China Sea, a man renowned for daring and courage even in that race of tough fighters, the Malays. “Pay no attention to his looks,” concluded Li Chi. “Ayert is tough. He fears nothing that walks, crawls or swims. Upon his loyalty you may depend. Be careful of how you speak of him, for he is proud, and from long association with me at Indian ports, speaks a fair amount of English.”

  The subject of this conversation approached and spoke volubly for two or three minutes to his master in a language unknown to the white men. When he had finished Li Chi turned to Biggles with one of those faint, subtle smiles that they were beginning to know.

  “Ayert has just given me interesting news,” he said smoothly. “Ten miles away, on the mainland, has come a man, a Japanese, who is not only my greatest enemy, but would give his arms to catch me alive. Perhaps that is why he has come here; or it may be that his government has sent him here because he knows the islands. He is in complete control of the district and has set up his headquarters at Victoria Point, the nearest village across the strait.”

  “Who is this chap?” asked Biggles.

  “Admiral Tamashoa,” was the answer. “Before the war he was the owner of the biggest pearling fleet in these waters. His divers found many fine pearls, but they did not all reach Tamashoa.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I was pearling in the same waters and it seemed a pity to let such lovely things go to such a beast,” said Li Chi smoothly. “He treated his Malay divers abominably, forcing them to dive in such deep water that their lungs burst. Because he knew where his best pearls were going he became very angry with me, and uttered threats which—as I am still here— served no useful purpose.”

  Biggles’ eyes’ twinkled. “Now I understand why they used to call you a pirate.”

  Li Chi held out his hands appealingly. “It is not piracy to take the property of a man who acquires it by brutality and murder,” he protested. “As I made you a present of a pair of the pearls you should be glad. If I am a pirate, so, too, are you, for receiving stolen goods.”

  “So that’s where you got them,” said Biggles, affecting reproach.

  “What did you do with them?”

  “I sold them to buy a new aeroplane.”

  “How much did you get for them?”

  “Eight thousand pounds.”

  Li Chi shook his head. “There was another robber in the bargain. You were swindled. Those pearls were worth twelve thousand.”

  “Well, as you got them for nothing and I got them for nothing, we’ve nothing to complain about,” returned Biggles, grinning.

  “Tamashoa knew of those two pink pearls,” said Li Chi seriously. “Such was his mortification when he lost them that he sent a special messenger to me offering to buy them back at any price, as he wanted them for his favourite lady. I sent word that I no longer had them. He asked me what had become of them. I told him that I had given them as a present to a British flying man named Major Bigglesworth for saving my life. No doubt he will remember the name, so it is to be hoped that he will never be in a position to ask you about the pearls, personally.”

  “I’ll bear it in mind,” replied Biggles thoughtfully.

  “But this won’t do. Let’s have lunch. The sooner the Gosling is on the way back to India the better.”

  “Come to my house,” invited Li Chi. “It is not all that I would wish and my hospitality has been affected by the war, but I still live fairly comfortably, as you will see.’

  He led the way into the forest, and presently a long, low bungalow, which until now the jungle had concealed, came into view. If, thought Ginger as he entered, it was not all that the owner could wish, then Li Chi must be a man of fastidious taste, for judged by western standards the appointments were luxurious, although, of course, Oriental. It reminded Ginger that their host was a Chinese—a fact which, in view of his London-made clothes and correct English, it was easy to forget. But when, with a word of apology Li Chi left his guests to return a few minutes later in Chinese dress, any delusion was banished. He was at once in keeping with his surroundings.

  The meal, a curious mixture of eastern and western dishes, provided by a Malay cook who had obviously been at some trouble to please his master’s guests, was a cheerful affair, so much so that Ginger began to regard the enterprise in a different light. If nothing occurred to mar the tranquillity of Elephant Island, he decided, the sortie should turn out to be a pleasant interlude in the hard business of war.

  The meal over, they all returned to the lake, and soon afterwards Algy and Bertie took off on the return trip to India for the tasks which Biggles had assigned to them. Biggles, Ginger and Li Chi watched them go, and afterwards stood talking for some time.

  Biggles observed that he thought it strange that Li Chi should be allowed to live so near Japanese occupied territory without interference. Li Chi asserted that the reason was evident. There were some hundreds of islands, large and small, in the Archipelago, and for the Japanese to maintain a garrison on every one, as well as on the tens of thousands of other islands in the Pac
ific war zone, would demand more troops than even the Japanese possessed. So the enemy did the next best thing. It maintained air and sea patrols to keep watch, although the personnel employed in these duties, being in small numbers, rarely landed. Said Li Chi: “Of course, the Japanese know there are refugees on the islands, but it would be a tremendous task to round them up, so, as it was supposed that they could do no harm, they were left alone.”

  “We may alter that,” remarked Biggles. “One day it will be the Japs, with their communications severed, who will be hiding on the islands.”

  “That state of affairs will not last long,” returned Li Chi casually. “The Malays will hunt them down and decorate their doorposts with Japanese heads. Come and look at the sawmill. We are cutting up magnificent timber.”

  This suggestion made no appeal to Ginger, who, nevertheless, accompanied the others as far as the mill. But he did not enter. Instead, finding a narrow path leading uphill through the jungle, he strolled along it with the object of getting a view of the island from the eminence thus gained.

  As far as the jungle was concerned there was little of interest. In the shade of the great trees the air was hot and humid, and sweat was soon trickling down his face. What with this, and finding the path rather longer than he expected, he took advantage of a seat offered by a fallen tree, to rest. Once, as he sat there, he thought he heard a slight sound in the forest, but he paid little attention to it There were, he knew, many wild creatures in the jungle, but he did not suppose that there was anything to fear so near to the lumber camp. But as the minutes passed he became aware of an extraordinary sensation of uneasiness for which he could not account, and this soon pressed upon him to such an extent that he picked up a lump of rotten wood and hurled it into the bushes. Nothing happened, and he was about to move on when suddenly he saw something that induced a prickling sensation in his spine. It was a face. At first he was by no means sure that it was a face. But it looked like a face, a man’s face, staring at him, not at shoulder height as a human face would normally be, but from low down, as if the man were crouching, or even lying. Dappled sunlight falling on the spot made it difficult to see the object clearly. It did not move.